


The Beat of Her Wings

by Dolorosa



Category: The Forgotten Beasts of Eld - Patricia A. McKillip
Genre: F/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Post-Canon, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21672304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dolorosa/pseuds/Dolorosa
Summary: The Liralen carries Sybel and Coren home, but not without a detour.
Relationships: Sybel (Eld)/Coren of Sirle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	The Beat of Her Wings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gammarad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gammarad/gifts).



Sybel and Coren clung to the Liralen's soft feathers, and looked around in wonder. The great crystal dome of Sybel's former dwelling glittered in the moonlight, the white house falling away until it had dwindled into a tiny pinpoint beneath them. The night sky lay in a sweeping arc above them, and the Liralen's wingbeats were steady, propelling them forwards across the land. They inhaled the cold night air, and felt the tingle of stars on their skin.

They were content to let the Liralen choose their path — Sybel, who, for so long, had chosen, and compelled, trapped beneath the icy fear of having those choices taken away, and Coren, who had been manoeuvred like a game piece on a board without his knowledge — relaxed in their trust of the graceful creature who had consented to carry them. They passed the time pointing out the landmarks over which their flight took them — Maelga's cottage, with its coil of smoke visible in the dark air, the curve of the road leading to Mondor, and the forests blanketing everything, untouched by human hands. The Liralen's flight turned westward, towards Sirle, and Coren delighted in speaking of every patch of land over which they travelled, regaling Sybel with a mixture of childhood reminiscences and outlandish tales of magic and mystery. It seemed that every rock, every bend in the river, and every tree standing tall on a hilltop had some resonance to Coren, and it was as if, after his long months of furious silence in the face of Sybel's betrayal, he could contain his words no longer, and they tumbled out in a riotous frenzy.

Sybel, for her part, was happy to let him speak. Every word, and every story seemed to bring the land closer, and to bring her closer to the land, making her a part of that patchwork of history and belonging. She assumed the Liralen was returning them to the castle, where they would make a dramatic nighttime arrival, descending from the air, and, eventually, become part of the fabric of things, another Sirle lord and his wife, albeit somewhat wild and strange. She was surprised, therefore, when their swooping flight carried them onwards, over the castle, continuing in a westward direction.

'What lies west of Sirle, Coren?' Sybel asked.

'Lands beyond the reach of my knowledge,' was his reply, his eyes sparkling with exhilaration. He took Sybel's hand, and they gazed in silence at the changing stars above them.

It was impossible to measure the passage of time, up there, with nothing certain save the flap of the Liralen's wings, and the wild beating of their own hearts, but at some point, far beyond the western boundary of the Sirle lands, they felt a subtle shift in the sky around them, as if they had crossed over some invisible border. They could sense that the Liralen was descending, carrying them downwards in a rush of icy air. They landed on the ground abruptly, and looked about, curious as to where their journey had taken them.

They were standing at the crest of a hill, under the looming branches of a rowan tree, heavy with red berries. A spring bubbled up before them, tumbling over stones, out of site towards the base of the hill. The air was warmer, heavier, somehow, and when they cast their eyes skywards the stars whirled above in strange, unrecognisable constellations. Sybel realised the truth of their journey first.

'We have travelled between the boundaries of the worlds!' she said. 'We have passed out of our own world, and into another.'

Coren pressed his hand against the feathers of the Liralen, sighing in satisfaction.

'After so many years of knowing and dreaming about the worlds beyond the walls of our own, it is a privilege to actually journey here,' he said in awe. 'I had heard of travellers walking through avenues of standing stones, or into circles of toadstools in the heart of the forest, or doorways under the hill, and finding themselves in otherworldly realms — but I never imagined it was possible to _fly_ there!' He clasped Sybel's hands, and twirled her about wildly in a fierce, joyful dance.

She was no less amazed than her husband, and reached her arms out into the empty air, as if seeking to touch it and sense if it held some palpable difference in quality than the air of Eldwold. The ground was dewy beneath their feet, and the sound of the spring rang out with clarity in an otherwise silent world.

Sybel could sense that the Liralen was restless beside them, and so she turned to send her thanks to the great, white bird, for carrying them so far, and so swiftly. There was the impression of wordless love in her mind, and then, with a beat of wide wings, the Liralen was aloft, a pale, stark figure against the inky sky. One final gift remained: the Liralen's ascent had disturbed some of the rowan berries, knocking them from their branches, and into Sybel's hand. She slipped them into her pocket, her mind in such a dreamlike state that she was scarcely aware of her own actions. She and Coren were alone. They embraced beneath the light of unfamiliar stars.

It was impossible to tell how long they remained there, enclosed in each other's arms at the crown of the hill, but eventually they were filled with the desire to explore this new world. And so, hand in hand, they descended, following the spring down the hill, and into the depths of the forest that blanketed the land. Their feet left no impressions in the dewy grass.

After walking for what could have been hours, but felt like mere minutes, they found themselves in a forest clearing, surrounded by other beings. They were at once impossibly beautiful — shining with unearthly light, glossy and lithe and youthful — and impossibly strange. Some had wings, like those of butterflies and other insects, while others' eyes were round and catlike, and still more had cloven hooves like goats, or webbed feet like sea creatures. They moved about the clearing with grace and energy, seeming never to get tired, dancing, leaping, and occasionally launching themselves into the air to alight on the branches of trees. Their dancing was accompanied by haunting music, but try as they might, neither Coren nor Sybel could identify its source, which led to the unsettling feeling evoked.

Eventually, their appearance was noticed.

One of the dancers, crowned with antlers like a stag, and draped in garlands of red flowers, moved towards them, out of the fray.

'Welcome, travellers,' he said. 'Welcome to this land, the land of promise. Here we feast all night, and our food stores are never depleted, the mead and berry wine flows constantly and never runs dry, and everyone dances all night and never grows tired. Here there is no pain, no sickness, and no death, only pleasure and plenty. Here there is no sadness — this is a land out of time, where no cruelty can reach you. Join our dance, drink our wine, feast with us! You are very welcome.'

And he reached out his hands to Coren and Sybel, and drew them into the circle of dancers.

It was like nothing either had ever experienced. Their hearts raced, their heads whirled, and their feet moved involuntarily, as if the steps of the dance had always been familiar, and their bodies merely needed reminding. They moved among those otherworldly beings, their fingers crackling and sparking with a restless, magical energy whenever they touched another dancer. 

There were no names here, only a joyful chaos of reaching hands and leaping feet. At some point, one of the nameless mass of supernatural dancers seemed to launch into the sky, and pluck the very stars from the air, to lay them in a glittering crown across Sybel's ice-white hair. Coren laughed and shouted with joy, so absorbed in the beauty of this endless, dancing moment that he forgot his past, his worries, and the path which had brought him to the place in which he found himself. Sybel, naturally more restrained, used for so long to weighing each choice against endlessly branching possible consequences, rejoiced in her own way in this sudden sense of freedom, feeling boundless in an unbound world.

Eventually, however, Sybel's hand moved, almost of its own accord, into her pocket. The rowan berries concealed within burned with an icy cold, like a warning. All at once, Sybel came back to herself.

'Coren,' she whispered, catching her husband's hand and dragging him away from the leaping mass of dancers, 'stop. Think. Think of everything you have read, every story that came to you in dreams. I have read the same stories: though they may seem wild and free at first, nothing good ever comes of joining otherworldly dances.'

He allowed himself to be led away from the whirl of glittering, golden beings. Sybel kept a tight hold of Coren, her other hand remaining in her pocket, grasping the rowan berries as if fearful she would lose this newfound sense of clarity if she let them go. After several moments they had passed between so many dense knots of trees that they were unable to see or hear their former dancing partners.

When asked later, neither Sybel nor Coren would be able to recount the path they took, nor how long their winding journey along the forest floor had taken. All they knew was that their feet carried them on tirelessly, twisting and turning around the knotted roots of tall trees. It was so dark that no light from the stars reached the forest floor. It was so difficult to see that Sybel stumbled, tripped, and landed in a little hollow at the foot of an ancient oak tree, gasping as her palms scraped across the rough bark. And then her fingers brushed against something soft.

Sybel would later recall that it felt like the feathers of the Liralen, and that was what had made her pick up the little bundle she had uncovered, and tuck it into her cloak. If Coren had seen what she had done, he would have tried to stop her, with dire warnings about causing offense by taking treasures from otherworldly realms. But he was oblivious, already striding on along the forest path, and Sybel, the feathery bundle unnoticed, raced on to catch him. Hand in hand the pair continued, passing trees that were contorted in the darkness like souls in torment, their trunks wreathed in ivy and mistletoe.

As they broke the cover of the densely packed trees, they realised they were not alone. The light of a silvery moon — not their own — pierced the clearing, pooling at the feet of a woman at once young and ageless, her bare limbs graceful, her eyes sad. Sybel had the sense not to ask for her name, nor to offer their own names up to her.

'I have not seen you here before,' said the woman, her voice creaking as if from lack of use. 'Were you tricked and trapped here, too?'

'No trick — at least I do not think there was a trick to draw us here,' said Coren, glancing at Sybel as if for confirmation.

'We are just passing through, just resting here for a while,' said Sybel, carefully. 'But it sounds as if you are not here by choice.'

The woman crumpled, slipping to the ground in a tangle of long limbs, lowering her head dejectedly.

'It felt like a choice at first,' she said. 'It always does. Leave the repetitive freedom of your everyday existence, shed your skin and become something sharper, wilder, darker. Dance forever without exhaustion. Do what you like, without consequence. Give your name, but trust that it won't matter.'

She laughed bitterly, the moonlight reflecting on her pale face.

'After a while, of course, you realise that the dancing is always at _his_ behest, and that he has a wonderful way of making sure all your "choices" are actually his own. Your freedom is that of a weapon wielded — or worse, a toy, picked up on a whim and discarded when you no longer serve your diverting purpose.'

'"He" is the being who controls this realm?' asked Sybel. She could feel Coren, tense beside her, worried that giving voice to this truth might summon the being in question.

'That is so,' said the woman. 'He took my swan skin, and I followed him, laughing. I was delighted at first. Everyone always is.'

Coren was horrified. 'I have heard stories of swan-maidens such as yourself — yes, and seal-maidens, too — who end up bound to mortal husbands who trap them by stealing their skins. But I have never before heard of them being trapped in otherworldly realms by otherworldly beings!'

The swan-maiden's eyes were sad. 'Immortals can be as controlling and acquisitive as mortals, and the effect is the same.'

Sybel, who had been silent during this exchange, had come to a realisation.

'Is this your swan skin?' she asked, reaching into her cloak and withdrawing the soft, feathery bundle she had found discarded on the forest floor.

The swan-maiden's eyes went wild with hope. She took a step towards Sybel, the effort to restrain her movements plain in every line of her body. With a tentative hand she reached out to brush the white feathers.

'Where did you find it?' she asked.

'Tucked in against the roots of an ancient tree,' said Sybel.

The swan-maiden laughed. 'After all this time longing to leave, trapped here even after he forgot his purpose in bringing me to this place, he just drops the skin heedlessly where he stands! And no doubt moves on to the next trifle, the next one to tempt into this land of peace and plenty!'

Sybel made as if to offer her the skin. The swan-maiden held up a restraining hand.

'Do not give it to me yet. You need to have your own path out of here — walking will not work, especially if you are mortals. How did you come to this place, if you were not called or commanded?'

'We flew here,' Coren said. He touched Sybel's arm. 'Do you think you could call again, that we might fly out of here?'

Sybel nodded. She did not need to speak the name aloud — it was enough, now, to think of the Liralen, its name reverberating in her mind, her call unfolding like a gold thread across the empty air. She could feel the echo of beating wings in her head. 

Coren pointed upwards. 'That is how we will return home again,' he said. As if drawn by his gesture, the Liralen dropped soundlessly out of the moonlit sky.

Sybel handed the swan-maiden her skin. The transformation was seamless and instantaneous — one moment there was a woman with sad, dark eyes standing before her, and the next moment a swan, graceful and powerful, and larger even than the Black Swan of Tirlith. Sybel and Coren leapt onto the Liralen's back, pressing their arms into downy feathers, feeling the beat of strong wings beneath them.

'Please,' said Sybel. 'Please, carry us home.'

There was a tension in this flight that had not been present in the preceding journey. The swan-maiden flew soundlessly next to them, lithe and tireless and sure. Sybel was privately worried that some invisible barrier would be thrown up, preventing their escape — and her fears were, swiftly, justified. There was a wildness in the air, in contrast to the calm stillness of their earlier flight. The wind howled and screamed, buffeting them this way and that. Their presence had been detected.

There was nothing to do but cling tightly to the Liralen and trust that they would be able to fly beyond the storm. Unearthly lightning split the sky, illuminating them with a disconcerting light. Beside them the swan flew on, resolute, her path sure. Coren took Sybel's hand.

'When you asked the Liralen to take us home,' he said, struggling to make himself heard over the cry of the wind, 'where did you mean?'

'Wherever the Liralen takes us, that will be home,' Sybel replied. 'Sometimes I will yearn for the quiet and solitude, and will return to my house beneath the crystal dome, or visit Maelga for soup, and warmth, and companionship. Sometimes I will seek out Tamlorn, and ride out alone to Mondor, and watch him remake the world with justice. And sometimes I will rest for a while at Sirle, curled up beside the fire in Rok's great hall, watching your nieces and nephews — and yes, maybe children of our own — playing with the dogs and growing up fierce and free, listening while the bards sing songs about us and turn our lives into stories. Wherever my name is called, and I consent to answer will be home to me.'

She reached into her pocket and retrieved the rowan berries. They gleamed in the lightning, stark against the white feathers of the Liralen. Coren's arm lay over Sybel's body, holding her in place against the violent, tempestuous winds. The swan-maiden was just visible beside them, struggling to fly against the force of the storm. The berries in Sybel's hand burnt with an icy clarity. She opened her hand, and let them fall. They were briefly held by the wind, visible against the sky, lit by the crack of a particularly bright flash of lightning, and then they were gone. The storm stilled. The winds calmed. They passed through the barrier between the worlds.

The swan-maiden remained beside them for several moments, the beat of her wings steady now that the storm had faded. She drew as close as she could to the Liralen, and locked eyes with Sybel, her wordless thanks brushing up against Sybel's mind like a cloak of white feathers. And then she wheeled upwards, turning north, flying home. Sybel and Coren watched her fly away, straining their eyes until she was a dot on the horizon, and then gone.

The stars spun in a glittering arc above them, and the land rushed on below. The Liralen's flight was steady, their path sure. Sybel and Coren clung to each other, exhilarated to have eluded detection as they escaped that strange and disconcerting otherworld. Their breath was visible in the cold air of the open sky. Although they could detect no recognisable features in the land as they passed over it, the direction of their flight was clear. They were returning. They travelled east, and the sun rose up to meet them, warming their weary bodies on the journey home.


End file.
